


Tattoos and Other Art forms

by KevinFreakinSolo_Bitch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Trans Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Trans William "Dex" Poindexter, i just wanted to see dex be an artist, im in too deep with this shit, my first multi-chapter fanfic pls be nice to me, nurseydex - Freeform, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 02:29:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10323560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KevinFreakinSolo_Bitch/pseuds/KevinFreakinSolo_Bitch
Summary: Derek Nurse refuses to trust this new tattoo artist, Will, that Larissa hired. You can't trust a tattoo artist without any ink. You also can't expect Derek to keep his word.





	1. Chapter 1

Derek pushes open the glass door, bells chiming. Larissa whips her head up from her sketchbook with a bright smile in his direction.  
  
"Hey hon! How's it healing?"  
  
Derek marches over to her desk and plops down next to her, pulling up the sleeve of his flannel.  
  
"It's going alright, I think? The scabs have completely fallen off," he says, poking at it curiously.  
  
Larissa slapped his hand away out of habit. "That's a good thing. Actually by this point, most would define that as healed. You're going to have to come up with a new excuse to keep dropping by my place of business. Maybe get another piece on the opposite arm..?"  
  
He makes a face at her, and pulls his sleeve back down. He isn't planning on getting anything new anytime soon. Despite the niceties of his best friend, this tattoo hurt like a bitch. Derek is happy to stick with just the armband. Although he isn't happy to head back home just yet.  
  
"Can I convince you to come get lunch with me? My treat. I'm hungry and bored."  
  
"Nurse, the sentiment was sweet the first 20 times but I actually have to work. My next client booked me for 6 hours for a piece he described as, 'An Asian Explosion, with like, kanji and tigers and katanas and shit.' He sounded white. I'm excited," she emphasises her last statement with a dramatic slash against her sketch.  
  
"I sincerely hope Shitty drops by soon."  
  
"Oh, you think I can't fend for myself against the dumbasses who come in here? You think I need my big, strong, white boyfriend to protect me? I frankly find that offensive." She turns back to her sketch and shoos Derek away. He stand up and backs away defensively with hands raised, but eyes the back room.  
  
"Is it cool if I chill at the empty desk? I mean, unless the spot has been filled since we last spoke," Derek jokes.  
  
"Well I assume the chair is already being occupied by a certain droopy-eyed hockey player fawning over his boyfriend, but you're welcome to head back there anyways. I am in no way forcing you to leave the premises. Yet. Get some work done."  
  
Derek half waves goodbye to her and wanders down the hall. The back room is empty of humans but full of boxes, just the way he likes it. He isn't in the mood to deal with Jack Zimmermann scrutinizing his every move. He swears, if it weren't for how obviously in love with Bits he is, he'd think the man was a robot. Or at least, that's Derek's experience of him. He's sure Jack's a perfectly nice guy once you get to know him, and once the season starts. That's what Bitty assures him.  
  
He plops down on the musty green couch, and pulls his netbook out of his shoulderbag. He might as well try and get some work done and not annoy his publisher, Chris, any more than he already does. The outline for his book rests on the left side of his screen and a barely there second draft on the right. He thumbs at the keyboard, urging the words to flow out of him without having to think them and realises that isn't working. With a huff, he pulls out his journal for a different approach. An approach where he doesn't work at all. He scribbles on his favourite page, one simply filled with words and incompleted phrases. Since landing his second book deal he hasn't been able to write poetry like he used to, and finds himself only stringing together half sentences, desperately trying to write something eloquent. This is the third time this week he's sat in this back room looking for inspiration, and all he has to show for it is 6 lines written about the dingy sofa and the repetitive scratching of a tattoo pen being equally irritating to the skin. It's absolute garbage. Still, he's thankful to have a space to write garbage in. Although it would be unconventional, Derek thinks he could afford to rent this room out to be his actual office. It isn't being used as anything but storage and an extra space for hanging out, which wouldn't change if he got to set up his own writing area in the corner. He could really use an excuse to not work from home.  
  
"Fancy seein' you back here, darlin. I'm starting to think you work here too," Bitty teases, carrying in empty cartons and still in his winter jacket. With both his full sleeves covered he looks out of place in his own tattoo shop, all sweet and southern and innocent looking.  
  
"Funny you would say that actually, I was wondering if I could work back here. Writing, I mean," He stumbles over his words. Bitty's face crinkles with concern.  
  
"Did Larissa not tell you we're filling the empty spots?" Derek shakes his head. "She put together some interviews, I'm meeting with a couple of guys this morning." Bitty looks sheepish.  
  
Realization dawns, and he starts clearing up the mess he somehow has already made. "Of course you're doing interviews back here, shit, sorry. I'll be out of your hair. I should probably be leaving anyways." He shoves his crap hazhardly away. Bitty clasps closed Derek's shoulderbag in his need to help. He gestures out front to the two empty desks.  
  
"I'm not kicking you out of the parlour, only the back room. You can set up shop at Mandy or Jenny's old spot." Derek smiles tight-lipped. "If you want darlin, you can play secretary. Larissa won't play nice with the people comin' in, especially when she's working hard. Take over for her." Derek beams this time. More excuses to not work, and this time it's fun.  
  
He sets himself up at Mandy's desk once more, adjusting every so often to really look the part. He takes off his flannel and flexes a little, figuring his only tattoo should be on display. The door chimes and a handsome young man walks in, and Derek forgets common decency.  
  
"Are you Asian Explosion?" Lardo glares at Derek, then at the patron, and repeats the question.  
  
"Um, no? My name is...Tony? I called yesterday? About an interview?" He looks nervous.  
  
"BITTY," Derek shouts, getting glares from Larissa again. He emerges from the back room fresh faced and rosy cheeked, equally confused looking as Tony.  
  
"You're not supposed to here," he says, wiping his hands.  
  
"Wait, what? Okay," Tony starts and Bitty cuts him off.  
  
"No, darlin', i meant, you're not supposed to be here yet. I have you booked for an interview in two hours."  
  
Bitty is standing there. Tony is justifiably embarassed, and Derek thinks the guy might just run out.  
  
"Wanna get a tattoo while you wait," Derek offers as a joke. He's not checking but he's sure he is receiving twice as many glares as before. Tony sputters and awkwardly leaves.  
  
"Oh my god that was so awful I'm firing both of you," Larissa hisses, face emotionless. He doesn't point out that he isn't getting paid to do this, nor was he instructed to do so by her.  
  
"Alright, I'm hiding back here and pretending that didn't happen. Derek, mind letting me know when a William Poindexter arrives?"  
  
"No problem man, It's my job," he calls back.   
  
Sufficient time passes that he actually gets some work done on the second chapter. A goblin is in the middle of launching itself at the hero's wife when the door chimes.  
  
"Welcome to the Hockey Puck Tattoo Parlour! What can I do for you to today," He singsongs to a lanky redheaded boy who looks passably young enough that he's considering carding him. Although the visible muscles negate the baby face.  
  
"Will. Uh, William Poindexter," says a deep voice, and Derek feels a little smitten. It sounds like caramel poured over gravel, if that even makes sense to him. He likes the messy analogy regardless as he's not sure how else to describe it. Smooth and rough at the same time.  
  
He points to the back room and watches Will walk, his converse scuffing the floor. When he's sure that Will is situated, he flips open his journal and pens in the words, 'caramel over gravel.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just friends at a bar. It's chill. Relatively so.

"What do we even know about this, Will, guy, person?" Derek questions, not fully conscious of his hands and their movements. He's pretty sure he's pointing a finger at Larissa.   
  
"Dex," Bitty says quietly. Almost no one hears him.  
  
"What is a-What does that even mean, Bits?"  
  
"He wants to be called Dex, not Will."  
  
"Fair enough," Derek states, slinking back into his seat. He hadn't realised that he was practically sprawled across the table. He still sort of is but at this point it's too much effort to fix. He is very drunk. And it is perfectly reasonable to be drunk on a Saturday night out with friends while playing 7th wheel. Although he's really only going to count himself as 5th wheel because March and April wandered off an hour ago to get drinks and have not returned. He's not too concerned for them.   
  
"Wait, no one answered my question," Derek exclaims, slightly too loud. Lardo reaches over to extract the beer bottle from his hand and responds.  
  
"The guy is from Maine and he's amazing as fuck. I did not bother to gather more information yet, but shall do so in the coming months as I slowly steal his drawing skills. Bitty, did you see his portfolio? Bits? Bittle, he's so good." Now Larissa is equally drunk as Derek.   
  
"I did honey, I'm actually the one that interviewed him," Bitty responds, calm and sober. Normally he would be more drunk than both of them but he usually refrains when Jack is around. Probably trying to keep his composure. He continues, "Dex seems like a really great guy actually. He was super charming and funny when we met, I'm looking forward to Monday."  
  
"Gee, it's almost like he faked nice for an interview, how surprising." Derek isn't sure why he's grumpy all of a sudden. He doesn't like the idea of Dex showing up on Monday all smiles and laughter and charming the pants off of Bitty. Not that anyone could do that besides Jack.   
  
"You're going to have to play nice with the new boy, Nurse. I invited him to come here tonight," Larissa points out.   
  
Derek is upset for some reason. "Why would you do that, I am not going to enjoy myself," he whines.  
  
"Jokes on you, you're already enjoying yourself," Shitty counters. He high fives his girlfriend for this. Derek hates him for that.   
  
"Is that the guy?" Jack speaks for the first time tonight. He gestures over to the door where as expected, a lanky redheaded man is shedding his coat. Dex looks for a sign of recognition, then makes his way over to the table.   
  
"Hey Bitty. And company," Dex adds. Bitty jumps from his chair to greet him, and introduces him to the group. Dex slips away from Bitty's physical contact, and pulls out the chair next to Shitty.   
  
"Wait, did I hear that right? You're Jack Zimmermann? I don't recognize you off the ice," Dex apologizes. Why is Dex apologizing. Dex appears to be questioning it too, and subtlely slaps himself on the forehead.   
  
"Less people recognize me than you would think. I'm not taking it personally," Jack quips. Jack smirks a little. Derek has never seen Jack smile at a human being other than Bitty. Now he's really sick of this Dex guy. Who does he think he is ruining everyone's favourite hockey robot? Dex shifts uncomfortably in his seat, desperate for something to fidget with.  He thumbs at the label on what used to be the beer Derek was nursing.   
  
"Ooh, Jack, honey! Has Larissa showed you the design she came up with for my chest piece? I'm hopin for a second opinion. And well, I guess many more opinions seeing as I brought it up in front of the whole group," Bitty giggles.   
  
Shitty's eyes widen. "Bits, I swear to god, if you're 'Asian Explosion'..."  
  
Jack looks around perplexed. "Euh, will someone please explain what an 'Asian Explosion' is? And preferably not the person who will give a lecture on fetishization of asian cultures, I don't think I need it."  
  
Derek pipes up, "It's just some hilarious piece some white guy wants. He postponed the booking 'til next week and told her to make it better. Please tell me that somewhere on it you've written 'Dumbass'?" Larissa shakes her head.

"Nah, but I am considering incorpotating a beautiful chinese porverb, "2 orders of dumplings and a side of rice.'"  
  
"I am deeply impressed by your ability to put up with this shit," Derek confesses, "Yesterday some random guy screamed Allahu Akbar at me then asked me where my turban was. I've never wanted to equally punch someone and teach them a basic understanding of religions."   
  
"And now you know the way of Shitty B. Knight, attorney at law," Jack says, lifting his soda to his lips. Shitty beams a shiteating grin. He glances over at Dex still grinning, to see him stonefaced and silent.   
  
"Why so quiet, man," Shitty interrogates, "Do you have the kanji for 'Eternal Hope' or some shit you feel the need to apologize for, because this is a safe space. We've all been there, getting a bad tattoo you regret. Except for me, of course, because we live in a culture that deems tattoos to be tacky and inappropriate in a courtroom-" Larissa pats his shoulder to interrupt.  
  
"Reel it back in, White Knight. We all agree with you, but shut the fuck up." He does what he's told, blushing profusely. Dex shakes his head, laughing.  
  
"No, I think it's all funny as shit but I don't have a tattoo I regret. I don't have any. Can't regret what you don't have."   
  
Derek sputters a little bit. "But isn't that against the rules or something? You can't trust a tattoo artist without any tattoos, thats what I heard." Dex scowls at him. Derek returns the favour.   
  
Larissa speaks up, "Nurse, you aren't exactly the expert here, seeing as you're a writer who got his first tattoo a month ago. Chill."   
  
Dex shrugs, "Just haven't come up with the perfect tattoo yet." Derek accepted this answer. Jack was oddly  dissatisfied with this answer, and absentmindly rubbed at his watch.   
  
"Speaking of perfect tattoos, Larissa do you have the sketch with you," Bitty asks. She shakes her head.   
  
"Okay then, I'll just explain it. So the main focus is across my ribcage, right about where my scars are, and it'll be the lyric, 'Perfection is a disease of a nation'..."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intentions of writing the second chapter until tomorrow but here I am. 
> 
> I apologize once more if it's unreadable bc it's both unbeta'd and from the perspective of someone drunk. I sort of like making it difficult to understand whats going on when you're narrator is incapacitated. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much for reading and the next chapter should be up over the weekend.


	3. 'Let Me Make You Not Hate Me'

It's a beautiful day, at least to Derek. The sky is overcast and the weather is brisk, so he is free to wear as many layers as he pleases to feel cozy. He's taken great liberties with this, in both a denim and a leather jacket for the ten minute walk it takes him to get from his brownstone to the tattoo parlour, which of course he's headed to this morning, like almost every morning this week. He just wants to keep an eye on the newbie around the shop. Well no, all the newbies, he remembers Larissa hired that ditzy Tony guy he met and there was someone else. But they matter just as much to him as watching over Dex as he gets to know his way around. He adjusts the collars on his jackets as he walks, trying to lose himself in his music. Patrick Stump is yelling non sequiturs as he realizes as the boy he was planning to keep his eye on is standing in front of him, fumbling aggressively with the keys to the parlour.

“Need a little help,” Derek calls out, grinning. Dex whips his very pink face around to face him. He looks grumpy. No, downright angry. Not like that's going to stop Derek from teasing him.

“See I could have sworn this place opened like half an hour ago, and I also could have sworn this was Bitty's job to open every morning.”

Dex growls, “Bitty's busy and he asked me to cover for him, I overslept, but it's not like it matters because no one gets a tattoo at 10 in the morning so kindly fuck off.”

Derek jumps a little but regains his composure in a heartbeat. “Did you just growl at me?” He takes the keys out of Dex's hands and smoothly unlocks the padlock and door.

“I did not!” Will sputters. Derek just smiles and shoves Will through the door with his bag. Will dramatically brushes himself off before sitting down at his desk, and Derek follows. He turns the cheap office chair around to face Dex, and watches him set up for the day. He's pulling sketchbook after sketchbook from his backpack, and lining them up neatly on each corner. He's organizing his pencils in descending size when he feels Derek watching him, or hears the squeak of Derek's boot holding himself steady in the office chair, and bolts upright.

“What are you doing,” Dex asks flatly.

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing, I swear.”

“Please stop looking at me.”

Derek drags himself across the linoleum in his wheelie chair to be an inch from Dex's. He can smell his Old Spice from this close. “What, am I making you nervous?” Dex's cheeks glow bright red. “No you're not, just stop being weird.”

Derek lets out a huff of air and pushes himself back to 'his' spot at the front desk. “You're going to have to get used to my weirdness, man. It's a job requirement here.” As he speaks, the chimes of the door rings out. In comes a flustered bespectacled girl who can't be more than 5 feet tall. She looks shorter than Larissa. Derek can already tell from her heat to toe pastels and her hair bow that this girl is going to be perky as hell, and he's excited.

“You look like a tall boy with good intentions and a smile like the sun, so you must be Derek,” the girl chuckles.

“And you must have heard about me from Bittle, which means you're the new kid. Yes, Derek or Nursey if you feel like being unprofessional.”

“Cool, Nursey. Ford,” she says, pointing to herself. Derek nods in agreement. She wanders into the back room, and Derek pulls his phone out to mark down his description from Bitty.

“Hey Derek,” Dex pipes up, “Now that Ford's here I won't need adult supervision so you can leave now.” Derek rolls his eyes at this. He hasn't been this rude the past couple of times. Granted, everyone else was around the past couple of times so they were probably acting as buffers. Regardless, he's being an ass.

“William, I have worked here longer than you, you should really respect your elders. Honestly dude, what's your problem with me? I haven't even been entirely joking with the whole, 'get used to me' routine. You've only known me since a week and a half ago and you're acting like I'm your worst nightmare.” He's speaking to him with literal open arms. Dex just huffs in response.

“Let me buy you breakfast.”

Dex gestures to the pen in hand and his papers. “I kind of have a job? Unlike you? That just started too, you're witness to that.”

“So? Please let me make you not hate me. I'm a pleasure to be around.” They both raise their eyebrows at each other.

“Oh my god, you aren't going to stop so fine.” Dex jumps from his seat and retrieves his coat off the back. He pulls the dark green army jacket on as he exits the door, making no second acknowledgement of Derek. Derek rushes to follow him as he leaves.

“Because you are making me do this I'm deciding where we go.”

Derek silently agrees with his statement, and falls in line with Dex, 2 steps behind him. He watches Dex's pidgeon-toed converse scuff the ground as they walk as opposed to his surroundings. He trusts that he doesn't need to pay attention to where he's headed. They march along in silence for several minutes, not stopping for crosswalks. Suddenly Dex's feet stop moving, and Derek looks up to follow Dex's pointed finger. It's the most twee bakery Derek has ever seen. He honestly expected some hole in the wall diner, but has instead been met with a light pink building boasting of 'Annie's Scrumptious Scones!' He's not passing judgement, he swears. It's just unexpected.

“Both my brother and Bitty has recommended this place, I just wanted to check it out,” Dex says, answering his unasked questions.

The smell walking in almost knocks Derek over. It's like Bitty's apartment on a stressful day times one hundred. His sinuses are assaulted with cinnamon and vanilla, but he resists the urge to make a comment to Dex, who looks quite pleased to be here. A kind older woman behind the counter makes eye contact with Dex as he makes his way to the back window. There's a little alcove tucked away back there, stuffed with pillows and blankets, and Derek wonders how he could sense the perfect spot just walking in. He plops himself down, and covers his lap in a soft throw blanket that looks like one his Mama knitted for him when he was young. Dex settles himself in too, across from Derek. He doesn't sprawl out the same, but he looks comfortable. His smile does, at least. They both just take in their surroundings for a minute, smelling all the sweet coffees being brewing, watching all the different people come and go, as the woman approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this took longer than expected. Im not gonna make any new promises I won't keep, so ill just say expect the next chapter shortly. 
> 
> Also wow i didn't even intend this part to take so long but ya know its not like I have control over these dang characters. We'll get into their breakfast conversation next chapter, which i swear will be soon.
> 
> (also apologies if anyone noticed whiskey was supposed to be a minor character but i switched him out for Ford, who I'll use more in the long run. this is the fun of writing without a strict outline ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Breakfast at Annie's

“Now what can I get you two?” Her accent sounds a lot like Bitty's, all sweet and melodic. She even reminds Derek a little of Bitty, those soft brown eyes and cropped blonde hair so familiar. He takes a second to check her name tag before responding and takes note of the name Annie in quotation marks. He notices two menus had already been waiting for them on the weathered wood table.

“Uh, I think we'll need a second to decide, but I'll start with some coffee?” She makes a note, nodding. “Thank you, Annie.” She smiles wide at him, and turns to face Dex.

“Yeah, I'll have coffee too. And some water.” He adds.

“Alright, be back in a minute when y'all need me. Or just holler!” She walks off to greet someone and head back to the counter, leaving Dex and Derek alone once more. Derek can sense Dex's awkwardness. Maybe it's nerves, he's unsure. They are both still silent, but it doesn't bother him. He finds comfort in the silences. He'd willingly spend more time just staring, both taking everything in about the other, but Dex is now ignoring him, buried in the menu. He reaches for his own menu, all baby pink that matches the outside and interior, all southern and sweet.

“This... doesn't seem like Bitty's style,” Dex mentions.

Derek frowns a little. It's not like Dex has been around that long, so it's not like he can perfectly judge their characters. And to Bitty's defence, he likes buying into stereotypes. Although with inspection of the menu, he realizes what Dex means. Everything was your standard diner food, with an odd twist. Things like burgers topped with peanut butter and mac & cheese, or avocado and spinach waffles. It's all a little unusual, and a little disappointing.

“Do you think it would be rude if I asked for like, a normal thing? Like if I asked for an omelette without dulce de leche and bacon bits?”

Dex responds bluntly, “I'm assuming a place like this gets that all the goddamn time.”

Derek still grumbles a little bit. He doesn't want to inconvenience anybody, and he's perfectly willing to try new things. It's chill. He waves over Annie.

“You boys ready?”

“Yeah, I'll have a Croissant Croque-Madame with Peach Jam? Thanks.”

“Can I just get some plain eggs and sausages,” Dex asks with a weird half-smile.

“Oh sure honey. That comes with maple syrup on the side, in case you didn't know.” Dex just looks at her.

“You didn't see the chalkboard, did you. Right behind the counter's all the normal things, sweetheart.” Dex looks up and sure enough, There's a chalkboard wall with beautiful script listing the price of hotcakes and milkshakes and various things. His ears tinge with pink. It's kind of adorable.

“Can I get some apple pie too,” Dex adds timidly.

*

They're exchanging niceties about the weather when their food arrives, steam rising in lovely coils above the plates that Annie sets down. While he was hesitant at first, Derek's meal looks straight out of a 5-star restaurant, and smells even better. Forgetting where he is, he takes a moment to close his eyes and sigh, taking all of the senses of his meal in. Dex stifles a giggle. The giggle is not at his expense, more an embarrassed sort of giggle. Dex gets embarrassed easily, it seems.

“Are you going to eat that or just breathe it in,” questions Dex.

“Hush, that amazing woman over there has made sunshine sprinkled with miracles. Look at that goddamned glaze, it's like it was dipped in a dream. I will wax poetic of my food as long as I want.”

“You're paraphrasing Willy Wonka.”

“I did not claim any credit for my words, Poindexter.” He hides behind his coffee mug, taking a small sip. “So, tell me about your life.”

“I hate you.”

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of question is that? 'Tell me about your life.' I'm not ready to go with some sob story about growing up dirt-poor with 9 siblings in Maine as my alcoholic father supported us on the meagre wage of a lobster fisherman-”

“Seems like you do have a story ready,” teases Derek.

“Not a word of that was true, I was rambling. Besides, what kind of 20 year old has a story? It's a dumb question.”

“That hit weirdly close to home to you, sorry. It's chill man, I'm just trying to make idle chat.”

“That question was decidedly unchill,” rebutted Dex. He stabbed his scrambled eggs aggressively with a fork. Derek took this opportunity to take a bite of his Croissant Croque-Madame. It confused his tastebuds. Too many flavour combinations trying to be made. Regardless, he drowned the sandwich in the saucer of jam and took another bite.

“Alright,” Derek says with a mouthful of ham and cheese, “Your turn. You start conversation.”

Dex argues, “You know, you can't force conversation. It'll come naturally or not at all.”

“Ugh, that's such a copout. Truth or Dare.”

Dex takes a second to look around. “We're in public,” he points out.

“Truth. Or Dare?” Derek smiles expectantly.

“Truth.”

“How much of your fake story was true?”

He shrugs. “I did grow up in Maine. And I have a sibling.”

“Huh. Interesting. You're a creative man. Truth.”

“I'm an artist for a living.” Derek makes a face at him. “That'd be pretty sad if I wasn't.” Derek continues to make a face. “Oh yeah, you said truth. Tell me about your life,” he says smugly. Derek rolls his eyes.

“You act as if this question would make me mad. I'm an only child, grew up in New York, I have two moms that love me, and I have known I wanted to be a writer of some sort since I was five. See? Not that hard.” Derek leans back against the pile of pillows behind him. He can feel one threaten to fall from beneath his shoulder blades.

“Truth.”

“Favourite album?” Dex looks a little stumped.

“I've never thought about that before. But probably the White Album or Mighty Like a Rose, Elvis Costello.”  
“Did not have you pegged as the Elvis Costello type...” Derek breathes.

“I don't have to be 43 or a hipster to like his music. Same question.”

“We Got It From Here...Thank You 4 Your Service.”

“I have no idea what that is.” Derek's face lights up with enthusiasm, and he's passing over his earbuds to temporarily pause the game.

*

They sat in Annie's for an hour. As rush hour started filling up for lunch, they bid their farewells to Annie and tipped her well before deking out the door. Derek falls in line behind Dex once more, this time the silence dead with 'Truth or Dare' questions. It's nice. They each ask equal amounts deep questions and stupid meaningless ones that fill the gaps. Dex chooses dare unexpectedly, and he wastes it, daring Dex to vault over a parking meter. He barely grazes the meter with his fingertips as he jumps over swiftly, keeping the same short distance between him and Derek. Both their faces are littered with bright red smiles, their cheeks flushed with the cold weather. The truth or dare questions die out naturally, the game satisfied.

 


	5. Friday Night

Dex has officially joined Friday Nights. That much doesn't bother Derek. In fact, he likes a fresh face joining their group, bringing in a new set of movies and snacks for their enjoyment. What does bother him is Dex's need to be punctual every time, which no one else upholds. As per usual, it's well past 6:30 pm and Bitty, Jack and Shitty still haven't arrived but Dex has been sitting in Derek's couch crease for fifteen minutes. Larissa is still fussing in the kitchen over nachos, and refuses to come out without them. This always turns into the only moments of silence between Dex and him. Any other time, Dex is chirping the hell out of him, but sit him down on the couch in his living room without anyone around he goes mute. For once he's not in the mood to try to coax him into talking, so he resolves to hunt down snacks. He pushes himself out of the recliner and turns his back to Dex, heading for the kitchen. Larissa is hunched over platters full of tortilla chips, ignoring him as she grates cheese and mumbles something about Bitty's cooking. He carefully squeezes past her and reaches for the family sized bag of flaming hot cheetos on top of the fridge when she hears him.

“Hey, what are you doing? Get out!”

He shrinks a little. “Nothing, I'm just hungry, and you're going to take another 7 hours in here. This'll tide me over,” he says, shaking the bag.

“I'm going to be done in 20 minutes tops, and Bitty told me they're minutes away. You'll survive. Now go back and keep Dex company.”

“Does he need help sitting quietly and awkwardly in my spot-”

She cuts him off, “Get the fuck out, Nursey.” She's turned away from him again, carefully placing jalapeno peppers on one of the trays. He still manages to slip out with the bag and closes the sliding door.

He tosses the bag at Dex as he enters the room, and he catches them with ease. Dex wrinkles his nose when he sees the packaging.

“Not a fan?”

He nods curtly, “The only acceptable ones are Puffs. All other flavours are trash.”

Derek feigns shock. “How are we friends?”

Dex shrugs. They return to silence. Just as Derek faces the urge to force Dex to talk, the front door whips open with a battle cry-esque yell. Bitty looks mildly embarrassed to be standing right beside Shitty as he does this. The three of them barge in, Bitty headed straight for the kitchen with a handful of mini pies. Derek looks to Jack.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your boyfriend?”

“More often than you should, Nurse.” He chuckles lightly. Jack drops into the giant recliner and Derek promises himself to not decide he hates him now for taking his spot. Besides, it's not like it was Derek's spot before Dex started showing up. He plops down next to Dex instead. He rips open the flaming hot cheetos and shoves the freshly opened bag into Dex's face, before popping one in his mouth. He grins, and Dex is annoyed but half-laughs. The spell of silence has been broken. Larissa and Bitty come out of the kitchen with promises that everything is in the oven and pizza orders have been placed, and with a case of beer.

“Alright then,” Derek says as everyone settles in, “who's on movie duty tonight?”

Larissa answers by throwing a pile of movies onto the ottoman. They all scan the pile, seeing a nice variety in action movies and rom-coms, and one historical artsy film that only Jack would like. Shitty pushes forward Pacific Rim as his vote, and everyone agrees. Jack sets up the PS3 as Larissa and Bitty come back with various foods. The group is relatively quiet as they dig in, until the theme music plays, and they all attempt their best impressions of a crunchy bass line. Various jokes are thrown at the screen, but mostly just exclamations of how much they love the movie. Shitty keeps an eye out, and jumps up to greet the delivery guy before he rings the doorbell, so as not to disturb the immersion. But as what always occurs, the movie gets forgotten, and someone offers up the idea of playing Never Have I Ever. Shitty grumbles that this was decided without him when he returns with the pizzas. The game moves slowly, since they all know everything about each other save Dex, until strategies change to just trying to get everyone else drunk.

“Never have I ever had sex in the back room of the shop,” Derek states.

Larissa and Shitty take a sip proudly. Jack nudges Bitty with a smirk, and they both drink.

“Wow guys, how unsanitary for your place of business.”  
  
“Shut up, you're just jealous you haven't had the opportunity,” says Larissa. “Dex.”

They all face him, waiting.

“Never have I ever had a tattoo,” Dex says triumphantly. He's barraged with boos of disappointment as everyone drinks but Shitty. Derek watches Jack set down his bottle and is met with a strange look. The game keeps going. No one's even near tipsy yet when Bitty's phone goes off.

“Ah shit, it's George. I almost forgot you had that interview first thing tomorrow.”

Jack rubs Bitty's back and jokes, “I have no idea why she doesn't trust me to remember these things myself. She has my number.”

“Honey, you know it's because she likes me better,” Bitty chirps, “but that means we've gotta be heading home.”

Everyone boos in disappointment, except for Shitty blushing.

“Not to kill the party but that reminded me I'm meeting with a client over breakfast.” More boos. Larissa offers to walk him home, and Derek takes that to mean he'll see her tomorrow morning. They all take off quickly, abandoning Derek and Dex in the mess of the living room, the end credits of the movie rolling. Derek lets out a little huff, and starts stacking the empty boxes and bottles. Dex joins him without any grievances, clearing the mess off the floor. They deposit all of the recycling in the corner of the kitchen and Derek starts washing dishes. Dex comes up next to him and grabs a washcloth to start drying.

“Do you need a ride home or something? Larissa has the keys, so I can't help you there.”

“No, I'm in no rush to get home. Chad said he'd pick me up on his way home from work.”

“Cool, that's chill.”

The two finish what little there was to clean, and Dex pulls out his phone to call his roommate. He walks into the other room for privacy. Derek stands there, dumbly, feeling awkward with what to do with his hands. He leans against the countertop, then switches to putting his hands in his pockets. He hears cursing coming from the living room. He crosses his arms.

“Fucking asshole,” Dex grumbles as he walks back into the kitchen.

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“He decided he'd rather bring a waitress home than me which is great because I live at least 30 minutes away,” he explains, “and knowing him they're fucking on the couch which will be fun to walk in on.”

“Hey you can take the couch if you want, it's chill. I can put down some sheets so you don't have to worry about sleeping on mysterious stains.”

“Thanks man.” Dex blushes.

He's never noticed before how the freckles on his face stand out against his blush.

Derek turns into full on host mode, like his moms taught him. He scrounges through his closet and finds an old pair of plaid pyjama pants and a grey henley shirt that doesn't fit anymore. He marches back out to the living room and presents them to Dex, and leaves before he can protest to hunt for extra bed sheets. After coming up empty in his room, Larissa's room, and the hall closet, he accepts defeat.

“Okay, I can't find any sheets and I cannot in good conscience let you sleep on our couch without protection, so take my bed.”

“No, you're being nice enough as it is, I can handle it,” Dex protests.

“Dude, you have not seen what hides beneath the throw blanket you were sitting on. I'm not subjecting you to that. Just take my bed, I'll sleep in Larissa's room. It's no big deal.”

Dex sighs and wanders off to the bathroom to get changed. He re-emerges in Derek's clothes, and his mouth goes a little dry. Derek coughs to clear his throat. Dex fits the clothes perfectly, both size and style. The combination reminds him of a lumberjack, but he's less thinking of that than he is how nicely the grey cotton stretches over Dex's shoulders.

“So uh, which one's your room,” Dex asks cautiously.

“Oh of course. The one on your left,” he points. Derek follows him in to make sure he's alright. His room is a reasonable size, but it feels cramped with two bodies in it. He's suddenly aware of the mess he's left, pieces of laundry on the floor and papers strewn across his desk.

“It's fine,” Dex assures him. He thought he hadn't said anything aloud. Maybe he did.

“So the light attached to my bed doesn't work, but the desk lamp does, in case you need it. There's extra blankets in that trunk. Oh, and the top drawer of my dresser has stolen hotel toiletries if you need deodorant or a toothbrush or something. I think that's it.” He scratches the back of his neck out of habit.

“Thanks again, man. It means a lot.”

“It's chill, Dex. Anytime.”

“I'm starting to realize that's your catchphrase,” Dex chirps. Derek smiles, and grabs his notebook off the desk before he leaves.

He's not tired, so he flops down on the couch with his notebook. He can't think of a damn thing to write, but he lightly sketches the outline of a face and starts filling it with freckles. He's debating between long and short hair, and compromises with something shaggy. The eyes are almost finished when he hears gentle footfalls coming from behind him.

“You're awake?”

Dex laughs and leans over the couch, pointing at the clock on the wall across from them. It reads 10:37 pm. Derek laughs too.

“Guess I got a little caught up in everyone leaving, it never occurred to me how early it is.”

Dex comes around the back of the couch and sits down, lying back on the armrest. He nudges Derek's shin with his foot.

“Truth or dare.”

Derek shakes his head, “Nah, I'm not in the mood.”

Dex frowns, but it disappears quickly. He quirks the corners of his lips up and teases, “What kind of sleepover is this?”

Derek quips back, “Not one at all. I'm not dressed the part.” He gestures to his clothes, still in a black button down and skinny jeans. Dex nudges him more aggressively this time.

“Then make it official.”

He chuckles and leaves the couch. He hadn't even considered that if Dex had been asleep, he would have had to resign to sleeping in his jeans. Larissa would kill him if he slept in her bed in anything less. He picks through the random things dropped on his floor and comes across his only good pair of sleep pants. He slips into the soft grey flannel and forgoes a top, figuring his undershirt is enough. He takes a moment to toss most of the clothes into his laundry hamper, and shoves various garbage into the trash. His room looks marginally better when he leaves it.

Dex is lethargic, until he notices Derek. He brightens up a little at the sight of him, and even more so when he notices the pyjamas. He fits himself back down in the tiny space Dex has left him on the couch. They're silent, but comfortably so. He thumbs at the TV remote.

“Wanna watch something,” Dex questions.

Derek turns on the TV to the PS3 still on. He closes out of the movie and reminds himself to put it away in the morning, but not right now. He nudges the joystick until it lands on his favourite season of Parks and Rec. He looks to Dex for confirmation first, and hits play. Before fully settling in, he lifts up the top of the ottoman for a throw blanket. He ignores the extra sheets that were nestled underneath, and covers the two of them in the heavy knit blanket. They make it through about 2 episodes before his eyelids feel heavy. He feels bad for some reason, but hears a light snore coming from Dex next to him. He takes that as a sign Dex won't get mad at him for falling asleep. He tugs at the blanket to pull it up to his chin, and Dex unconsciously adjusts himself, his head now leaning against Derek. Derek begins to drift off, his breath evening out with Dex's heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this is twice as long as I meant it to be.
> 
> Fun fact: this work was originally only going to be 6 chapters. That has definitely gone out the window.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek blearily rubs his eyes and checks the wall clock. It’s 2 am. His throat feels dry. He carefully extracts himself from underneath Dex and pads over to the kitchen for a glass of water. He gulps it down without thinking. His brain switches to autopilot as he moves through his usual routine. He splashes cold water on his face in the bathroom and brushes his teeth. He reaches to undo the buttons on his shirt when his fingers don’t meet hard plastic. He shakes himself of his daze, and continues with his routine, only switching to his nightly one. He liberally smears creams into his face until he’s satisfied. He wipes his hands against one another, figuring moisturizer is moisturizer and it won’t hurt him. He wanders back into the living room thinking he could maybe coax Dex to his room to have a restful sleep. Unfortunately he instead finds Dex upright and brooding. He decides against mentioning anything. Dex has abandoned the blanket so Derek takes this as an opportunity to snatch it. They’re on opposite sides of the couch now, as far as they could be while still making physical contact, their feet grazing each other but both unmoving. He’s unsure of what to do anymore. He contemplates heading straight to Larissa’s room and ignoring Dex for a few weeks. He contemplates heading to his own bed because the couch had left a serious crick in his neck. He also contemplates turning back on the TV and passing the blanket so as to return to where they were and deal with awkwardness in the morning. His contemplation is in vain as Dex pulls out his phone and buries his face in it. Derek grabs for his phone in retaliation.

_NURSEY: hey_

Dex doesn't flinch, still scrolling.

_NURSEY: hey!!!_

_NURSEY: pay attention to me_

_NURSEY: !!!_

Dex glares up at him. A quick chirp comes from Derek's phone.

_DEX: are u kidding me_

“Aha! You acknowledge me,” Derek smirks.

“Of course I'm going to acknowledge you, I'm a guest in your house. I'm just stressed about work is all.”

“Being on your phone helps that?”

Dex snorts. “Larissa wants me to come up with some flashes for Monday but my mind is blank. I'm trying to get some inspiration.”

He curls his feet under his legs into a yoga-style pose and chews on his thumb as he continues scrolling. His eyebrows twist in various patterns. Derek reaches for his forgotten sketchbook that's fallen between the cracks of the sofa cushions.

“Here,” Derek hands over his sketchbook to Dex, “Just put pen to paper. Your hands will do all the work for you, if you turn off your brain. Art block is only real if you let it be.”

Dex grumbles a little bit as he thumbs the worn leather of the spine. He sighs heavily a few times before giving in and turning to the final page of the book to doodle. Derek watches his movements. He warms up his fingers with long loops that fill the page, and flips the page again. Derek gives him what little privacy he can by staring at the floor and picking at his nail beds. He listens intently to the only sounds filling the room, the ticking of the wall clock and the light scratching of a pencil. Then the scratching stops for a few minutes.  
“These are really good,” Dex says under his breath, slowly flipping through the pages. Derek adjusts himself to be seated shoulder to shoulder with Dex. The book is open to the latest pages, a quick sketch of Ford in an oversized hoodie on one side and on the other side, the half-finished freckle covered face from earlier.

“Do you always draw the people you know?”

“Oh, uh-Ford came over a couple of days ago to hang out, and I thought she looked cozy. It was good practice for drawing folds,” Derek stammers out. He's not usually so embarrassed over his drawings, but then again no one's ever seen the stuff he draws of his friends. But, he thinks to himself, he was right about it being good practice. He'd managed to make the fabric drape properly for once.

“My hair is a bit shorter than this,” Dex points out. Derek yanks the book from his hands and snaps it shut.

“Who said this was a drawing of you?”

“I don't think it's that presumptuous of me to assume, I did just see a series of drawings based on the rest of your friends.”

“Well, who said we were friends?” Derek sticks his tongue out.

With a laugh, Dex says, “Me. Just now, you idiot.”

*

The birds chirping from outside the balcony provides Derek with an almost instantaneous headache. He hadn't realized how long they were talking, but if the clear blue sky lighting up the room was any indication, it had been a while. Derek had somehow been talked into showing Dex all of his sketchbooks and even his current novel. He wants nothing more than a shower and to press his head into a pillow. Thank god for working from home.

“I should probably get going now, shouldn't I.” It's not even a question.

“Wasn't the whole point that you wouldn't be able to get home though? Larissa'll be home in a few minutes with the keys.”

“Fair enough,” Dex shrugs and leans back against the couch.

“I wasn't kidding about the few minutes thing. You might as well get dressed.”

Dex groans. Pretty loudly, and drops his head to his knees. It's over dramatic in a way that's usually reserved for Derek.

“Alright, I won't make you. But I will make you return my clothes to me.”

A quieter groan. And a door slams.

“Nursey,” Larissa calls out.  
Derek hears her entering the kitchen and follows her in.

“You look tired as hell,” she says, filling the coffee pot, “you should probably head back to sleep.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I should. Right after I drive Dex home.” Larissa's eyes widen. She smiles tightly and tosses him the keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long with these chapters lately, but these boys are weirdly difficult to direct. All the love to ngozi. 
> 
> but hey thanks for reading! Ill be having a break from school this week so it should be easier for me to get some writing done.
> 
> also I don't know why but I've decided nursey really loves texting dex while they're in the same room and im now writing that into everything i do with nurseydex


	7. New Tattoos

"It has been officially way too long, Nursey, you must inform me what it was like spending an extended period of time with Dex all by yourself," Larissa teases as she rearranges herself to an almost squatting position on the recliner.

Derek fakes nonchalance and scoffs, "I don't know why you care so much. I mean, you've spent time with the guy. He's nice. That's about it."

Larissa catches his bluff with ease though.

"I care because you obviously do. Honestly, Bitty and I have a bet going for which one of you bozos will admit your little crush first," she says smugly.

Derek blushes what he hopes is only a little. Not because he's been caught out or anything. He doesn't like Dex. It's just embarrassing to be accused of a crush, that's all.

"Ya know, you're really enforcing stereotypes to only want to talk about boys you think I'm going to get with. I'm not your 'gay best friend'."

With a wave of the hand, Larissa quips, "I am well aware of that fact and yet, I will enforce stereotypes if I want to. I can't always be a feminist icon."

He throws a chip at her face.

"Alright, new topic," Derek says excitedly, rubbing his hands together, "I think I want another tattoo." 

Larissa's face emotes equal amounts of excitement.

Derek says honestly, “I have no clue what I want to get and I think that's a good thing because I think it would be really cool to get a tattoo that's just this, piece of artwork that someone completely designed themself and put on my body? I want the artist to get to express themself through their work on my arm. No prompts, no deep back story of my life. The way I get to create my art, they get to create theirs.”

“That's pretty great, man. I would be honoured to do this piece for you.”

Derek's eyebrows knit together, “Oh, you think I'm going to let you to do this?”

She throws a chip at his face.

  
*

  
“That's pretty cool that Nursey wants you to do this,” Will admits, shifting his weight from foot to foot and hoping desperately not to impede on Larissa's personal bubble, nor Bitty's. That is, until Bitty's hand is wrapped around Will's wrist in a death-grip like vice.

“Yeah it is, but my problem is I have no fucking idea what to do. Or alternatively, I have too many ideas. I feel like I have to honour the things he loves most and use Oscar Wilde quotes and Keith Haring doodles-”

“He'd probably love that,” Bitty interjects, through gritted teeth.

“Exactly, but the whole point is that isn't what he wants. He wants me to do my thing, and Oscar Wilde and Keith Haring aren't my thing. Well actually, I do appreciate them, but they aren't my personal tattooing style,” she pauses to inspect her line-work and wipe away the excess ink, “And I don't even know what I want to do with complete freedom. Ugh, rant over.”   
Larissa scoots back on her swivel chair to give Bitty some space. He adjusts slowly, popping the joints in his body and cracking the leather of the tattoo chair. He looks painfully tired. Or more accurately, full of pain, and tired. Regardless, Bitty doesn't seem to care. Will cannot comprehend how Bitty can bear how bloody painful it is getting tattooed, especially over scars on already one of the most painful spots, and still want to cover his entire body. He's bent over and breathing heavy, yet smiling.   
Larissa returns with water bottles for the three of them and settles back down in her chair without touching the tattoo gun. She and Bitty exchange looks but she dismisses the thought and brings the bottle to her lips.

“Dude, I'm in need of a break. I don't get how you aren't,” she chirps.

“Oh I am in need of a break, but actually from your Nursey-related rants,” Bitty chirps back.

He looks to Larissa with horror and turns bright red. Her face is plastered with shock too. Will's only response is to turn a shade of red similar, albeit probably darker, than Bitty's. The moment passes with a laugh.   
“Okay, on a more helpful note, why don't you just turn him down? It won't make you a bad person to admit defeat on this one,” Bitty suggests.

He assumes the position of displaying his flat and half-coloured chest to move things along.

“But I'm the one that's been pestering him to get another tattoo and now he wants one and I should be able to do this,” she whines.

She grabs the gun and dunks it in the little pot of ink a few times.

“You're too emotionally invested in this. Do what's right, Lardo-”

His sentence was cut short by the familiar but grating buzzing sound of the tattoo gun.

“Wait,” she exclaims, “why don't you just do it, Dex?”

Both Bitty and Larissa's faces light up in agreement and face Will expectantly.

“No,” Will barks.

“Why not,” Bitty complains.

“Because... I've never done a big piece before. That's intimidating.”

Larissa tuts.

“Not a valid excuse. Also who said it was going to be a big piece? Try again.”

“Because,” Will is racking his brain. He has absolutely no interest in doing this and is not going to be pulled into a trap of making Nursey hate him more, “...Because, we're close. I'll just end up in the same boat as you!”  
“Bullshit, Dex. You two are not friends,” Larissa points out.

“Even so,” Bitty points out, much calmer than Larissa, “You do know him the least. Friends from college beats buddies for a couple of months.”

“Try again,” Larissa chimes.

“Because... uh, fuck.”

His mind races to every possible answer, but only one will work that he's sure of.

“Because there's no fucking way he'd trust me to tattoo him, since I don't have a single tattoo!”

Will was a little too proud of this statement. He tones down the shit-eating grin.

“Well, damn, Bitty. He's got a point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clearly i can't be held accountable to keep to a schedule. Whoops. Although at least I now actually know where I'm headed with this story, so i won't spend an entire week just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with these characters because im a mess.  
> Also I feel the need to mention that I know next to nothing about tattoos as a teenager without any.   
> as usual, comment and kudos if you liked it!! thanks for the reads


End file.
